The comforting dialect of overcast skies

'In what language does rain fall over tormented cities?’

(Pablo Neruda, The Book of Questions)

(A side note: This article does not aim to invalidate the experiences of those dealing with SAD or reverse SAD.)

Clouds slither into the leaden sky: heavy and sore with the equivalent of a day's downpour, following up on the cue of a long-gone sunset. The winds, obliging to the will of a master invisible only to the human sight, are on their feet now. The green in the leaves pops out in otherwise bleak weather. The air around me is a messenger, mistakenly spilling the contents of an ominous message not supposed to be laid eyes on by anyone but the receiver. It leaves me with bittersweet feelings from a chasm inside, the existence of which was unknown to me, until this very moment. A lightning bolt brightens up the entire sky. The jolting cries of crashing thunder follow and the winds begin gathering speed. The floodgates of a cloud aching to rain down open wide.

Such chaos, yet I feel the opposite of turmoil.

Peace.

The concept of dour weather affecting our mood has been there around us for quite some time. Thoughts of having to deal with annoying puddles and mud on your way to work or feeling a little blue are some commonly experienced emotions. If we consider the range of emotions experienced during the days of a downpour as a spectrum, then the extreme of the spectrum will have mood disorders like SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder) characterised by depression occurring at the same time of every year, and reverse SAD.

But how about experiencing tranquillity amidst stormy weather?

The answer can be perhaps attributed to a variety of plausible reasons and instances. An article that I recently came across contained instances of people struggling with anxiety, claiming that stormy weather helps them calm down. The combination of grey skies and raindrops is said to provide a peaceful congruity between mood and external stimuli. For example:

“The richness of the rain made me feel safe and protected; I have always considered the rain to be healing — a blanket — the comfort of a friend. Without at least some rain in any given day or at least a cloud or two on the horizon, I feel overwhelmed by the information of sunlight and yearn for the vital, muffling gift of falling water,” says Douglas Coupland.

Scientifically, the brain craves sensory input. The sound of rain can be categorised under white noise. Our brains receive tonic signals from white noise, thus decreasing the need for sensory input and calms us down.

Additionally, there's the concept of pink noise, which has just the right amount of frequency variables to engage the subconscious but not enough to distract/disturb it. The sound of rain and storm noises qualify as pink noise.

Moreover, our association of rain and other water noises with a calming effect can be attributed to the fact that we perceive them as non-threatening. This might explain the popular usage of apps to improve the quality of sleep, like white noise generators and apps that mimic the sound of rain. Perhaps, nature's version of a lullaby continues to be the undisputed antidote.

Rain then has a special importance for our senses. As Murakami puts it, “Colours shone with exceptional clarity in the rain. The ground was a deep black, the pine branches a brilliant green, the people wrapped in yellow looking like special spirits that were allowed to wander over the earth on rainy mornings only.”

Nikita Biswas

19/UMTA/103